


Tentacle Aftercare

by Anonymous



Category: Fake News FPF
Genre: Community: newskink-meme, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Rescue, Tentacle Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://newskink-meme.livejournal.com/709.html?thread=766917">Kink meme prompt</a> fill. "Stephen" strays into the tentacle-monster district. Now it's up to Jon and Sweetness to come to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tentacle Aftercare

**Author's Note:**

> Goal: to finish a couple of the half-finished TCR fics on my hard drive before the show's grand finale. This is a weird Lovecraft-esque AU that exists solely to enable tentacle kink. Don't think about the worldbuilding too hard.

Jon stared at the tiny pixelated map on his phone, willing it to change. Begging it to change. Or at least, to not say what he thought it said.

No such luck. That was still the icon for Stephen's phone, and the street names bookending the signal were still unmistakably Cephalese.

Before he had time to think about it, Jon was digging through his garage for a spare sonic emitter. Any car these days had to come with one, in case for some reason you were forced to drive through the cephalon district on your way to somewhere else. The sound waves, out of the range of a human ear (though you'd get a splitting headache anyway if they were on for too long), were the turnoff equivalent of wearing terrible perfume, and about the only thing guaranteed to protect you. A couple of the larger cephalons could lift a van right off the road.

Of course, Stephen might have brought his own sonic. But if he was reckless enough to wander into the cephalon district ( _tentacle monster district_ , Jon thought, though he knew it wasn't the politically-correct term), it was probably too much to hope for that he'd taken precautions.

It wasn't until Jon was in the driver's seat, foot on the pedals while he tapped the address into his GPS, that he started having second thoughts.

There wasn't going to be any backup. The police didn't have any jurisdiction on cephalon land, and none of his friends were insane enough to do this with him. It would all be on Jon, the spare emitter in his pocket, and an iPhone with the Cephalese Translation app. What if he screwed up and got himself attacked? What if he took all this risk only to find out that Stephen had never been in danger at all?

No, that was wishful thinking and he knew it. But, hell, even if he took the coward's way out, it wasn't like Stephen would die. There were still laws against murder for cephalons in their own districts, and no human in the US had been killed by one in at least thirty years. No matter how violent the assault had been....

_Insolent coward! Drive!_

Jon gasped, looking all around the cabin for the source of the hissing female voice. This car was expensive but not large, a sleek sporty model with nowhere another person could hide....

Then he froze, because there was a small black handgun lying casually on the passenger-side seat.

 _You will rescue the boy,_ hissed the mystery woman. _We will find the creature that dares to violate him and tear the flesh from its bones._

Either Jon was dreaming, or he had completely lost it, or....

Hardly believing his own voice, he croaked, "Sweetness?"

 _I am sweet only for the boy!_ shrieked the voice in his head. _For you I will be the eternal scourge of your miserable existence if you do not twist the small knife and depart!_

Well, if he was insane, might as well go with it. "For future reference," said Jon, starting the car, "this is called a key."

 

~~~(;,,,;)~~~

 

The friendly voice of the GPS started giving Jon warnings once he was within a few blocks of the district limits. "Turn left at intersection. Caution: approaching cephalon territory. Advance one hundred feet. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Sweetness, who had insisted on being buckled in, rattled against the seatbelt as the car turned. _We will sever its limbs where it stands and make it scream like the filthy squid it is._

"That's really racist," said Jon automatically. "Besides, I don't think squids can scream."

 _I cannot be racist,_ hissed Sweetness. _I do not see race. But the boy tells me I am black, and I believe him, because in the dark you would not see me coming._

"Sonic emitter: on," announced the GPS. "Suspension of human legal codes in eighty feet. Sixty feet. Forty feet."

Outsized cephalon architecture loomed over the widening street: the mismatched turrets, the unexpected curves, the oval windows reflecting blue street lamps just starting to turn on. The sidewalks were already broad and open, the better to accommodate creatures whose shuffling trails could be six or eight feet wide. Warning signs flanked the next crosswalk Jon pulled up to; there was a powered gate beyond it, a white bar with red stripes that lifted as he pulled up. At a forty-five-degree angle it stalled, creaking. "Come on, hurry up," grumbled Jon.

_You will smash through the feeble obstruction as through matchsticks and leave its splinters in your wake!_

"I won't have to," said Jon, as the bar creaked its way to twelve o'clock. "His phone said he was only a couple blocks in. Let me know if you see a parking space."

 _You will stop in front of an iron column as red as freshly spilled blood if necessary!_ shrieked Sweetness. (They didn't have fire hydrants in the cephalon district, but Jon decided not to argue the point.) _The boy is close! For every bitter tear he weeps we will make the creature shed a hundred!_

As Jon pulled up beside a six-foot parking meter something clicked in his head, metallic and icy. "You're not just guessing. You know. There's a tentacle monster with Stephen right now. And he's — he's crying."

 _It will curse the day it touched him!_ wailed Sweetness.

Jon scooped her off the passenger seat and was out the door, stopping only to lock the car before taking the measure of the block. They were across from a bar with two cephalons chatting outside its cavernous double doors: one a gray-green, one reddish-brown, both about nine feet high. A mottled blue six-foot specimen slopped down the street on Jon's side, carrying a bucket; as he watched, a tentacle dipped into the water and scooped out something to tuck in its hidden mouth.

Since they saw through sensory patches of skin rather than eyes, any one of them could have been looking right back at Jon for all he knew.

His hand tightened on Sweetness' grip. In his jacket pocket, the sonic emitter hummed steadily on. "Tell me which way to go."

 

~~~(;,,,;)~~~

 

The entrance of the L-shaped alley was narrow by cephalon standards; a larger one would have had to hold its tentacles in to keep from smacking the walls. Small twin-leafed plants sprouted from cracks in the pavement. Jon could hear water rushing on one of the floors high above, so loud it almost obscured the squelching from around the corner. The only light that reached back here was from overhead windows, eerie blues and greens filtering through the tinted glass.

Jon swallowed, heart in his mouth, and took a few more steps.

In his head, Sweetness _snarled_.

An eleven-foot mass of tentacles was writhing against one of the next building's walls. Its hide was dull purple and covered with iridescent speckles; the undersides of its tentacles were paler, highlighting the rows of flushed suckers. One of Stephen's polished black loafers lay on its side between the creature and Jon, blue-white ichor dripping from the heel.

Which meant that the black shadow at the heart of the tentacles' most rhythmic motion...that had to be Stephen.

 

~~~(;,,,;)~~~

 

Stephen had no idea which way was up.

His arms had been pinned when it started, but now they were helplessly clinging to the upper section of a tentacle as big around as his waist, some hindbrain instinct terrified he would fall if he let go. The creature had left his shirt and jacket on, to be soaked and spattered around the hem and neck; his pants were long gone, maybe shredded, as two more tentacles spiraled around his thighs to spread them wide for the latest one thrusting inside him.

He didn't know how many it had been. He had passed out during the third, and was terrified to imagine how many had taken their turn before he woke up.

The one in his mouth thrust harder, shoving him back against the suckery curl cradling his head, and ejaculated so hard that the fluid leaked around it and ran down his chin. Stephen coughed as it slid out, sobbed, tried to gulp air while he could. It wouldn't give him long.

A curve of slick flesh bucked up between his, kicking off a wave of tortured arousal. His hips quaked around the unforgiving intrusion. They kept getting bigger, and he couldn't take any bigger — maybe that meant this would be the last one — but he didn't know how his body had stretched enough to hold what was being forced into it _now_ , so maybe it could go on forever....

As a fresh mid-size tentacle began fondling his lips, he couldn't even summon the strength to beg it to let him go.

 

~~~(;,,,;)~~~

 

"LET HIM GO!" Jon shouted, aimed Sweetness for the bulk where all the tentacles seemed to be rooted, and squeezed the trigger.

 _Why do I even have a safety?_ lamented the gun.

Jon was fumbling with the safety when a lone tentacle snaked out of the mass and traced an S-curve toward him across the cobbles. He leaped backward, buzzed with enough adrenaline he could probably have flown if he needed to — but the tentacle stopped outside the range advertised on the sonic emitter's packaging. It undulated, getting a good look at him, then the whole mass let out a low growl-hiss Jon recognized: _I don't speak Human._

"Stephen!" called Jon as he grabbed his phone and opened the translation app, praying Stephen was present and conscious enough to hear. "It's okay. I'm gonna get you out of this. Hang in there!"

He could pick out Stephen's back, one shoulder, a shadow that might have been mussed hair, flashes of pale skin. Stephen was twitching, torso rocking a slow rhythm, and Jon's stomach did a sick flip as he spotted the specific tentacle doing the thrusting. The sound he made might have been an answering whimper, or just a whimper.

"Let him go!" he repeated into the receiver, and the phone spat out a loud, sloppy growl.

The cephalon answered. A chirpy Microsoft-default voice announced the translation: "This one is mine. I found it first. Obtain your own."

 _The boy is not yours,_ seethed Sweetness, heat radiating from her metal surface. _The more you touch him, the more he cries._

There was supposed to be no reasoning with tentacle monsters. In desperation, Jon tried it anyway. "He has a name! He's Stephen, and he doesn't want you! Can't you tell you're hurting him?"

This time the reply contained an unmistakable grunt of _Shee-vuhn_ , though the app rendered it as "[The stinging coral reef] is unharmed. His skin is unbroken. I have the. Oh. I have the knowledge of my rights. Darn. Untranslatable. Untranslatable."

The tentacle spasmed and slid out, painting a thick blue trail in its wake as it flopped across the ground. Even at the tip it was thicker than Jon's wrist.

 _Claim him!_ yelled Sweetness at Jon. _Miserable vermin, you will speak for me and claim the boy!_

"You don't have any right to him because he's mine!" shouted Jon.

The cephalon began moving Stephen, rolling him along like a rag doll until he was in Jon's view.

He was glassy-eyed and unconscious: head lolled to the side, arms hanging limp over the tentacle holding them, hair a wild, sticky bird's-nest. fluid dripping from his fingertips. Another tentacle was under his shirt, iridescent markings shining through the fabric as it worked suckers against his chest. There were more sucker-sized red marks all along his pale legs; blue-tinted fluid rolled slowly down them, shining in the low light. The cephalon was showing off his abject misery like some kind of deranged art project.

Also, apparently, comparing heights. "You are too small to be the owner of [the stinging coral reef]," the phone translated, while the cephalon, apparently satisfied, whipped out another huge throbbing tentacle and lowered Stephen roughly onto it.

Before Jon could react, Sweetness aimed between Stephen's knees and fired.

 

~~~(;,,,;)~~~

 

He thought he'd heard Jon's voice. Had to be a dream, or a hallucination. But it was such a nice one.

This time, Stephen tried harder than ever not to wake up.

"Stephen. C'mon, buddy, snap out of it." Jon's voice again. Stephen clung to it desperately, trying not to notice how he was still being touched, being violated.... "I need you to lean on the car. Can you do that for me?"

 _The boy has no strength,_ said what sounded like Sweetness. _You will hold him. That is what you are here for._

"I carried him all the way here!" protested Jon. "Either he leans on the car, or I'm gonna have to drop him!"

It didn't make sense to Stephen, but if leaning on a car would make the phantom Jon-voice happy enough to stay around, he would do it. He sagged in the direction he was being held, found cold metal, and clung.

 

~~~(;,,,;)~~~

 

The chirp of the car unlocking had never sounded so loud before.

There was a faded beach towel on the floor, a refugee from some recent shore visit. The upholstery was going to be a lost cause anyway, so Jon grabbed it to cover Stephen, then half-coaxed, half-shoved the man across the back seat. Two feet of persistent tentacle, the end trailing blue-black blood, went with him.

With even less gentleness Jon tossed Sweetness on the passenger seat, slammed the door behind them, and did an illegal U-turn across the unnervingly wide lanes. "Stephen. Can you hear me, Stephen? We'll be out of here soon."

"J-Jon?" croaked Stephen. at last. "Sweetness...?"

 _The streets run black with the innards of your tormentor,_ Sweetness informed him.

"Almost out," repeated Jon.

Fabric shifted as Stephen started to sit up, or tried to. He choked on a sob. "Get it out."

"In a minute. I swear," said Jon, eyes on the road. "We need to get back to human territory first."

"No," begged Stephen. "Now...please, get it out, please...."

 _You will bear it while we rescue you,_ Sweetness informed him. _You will be my good brave boy._

There was no bar to exiting the cephalon district, just a lot of signs in Cephelese about the rules of law that would apply once its residents crossed the line. Once they were over, Sweetness continued soothing Stephen while Jon scanned for parking garages. In the relative privacy of being underground and sandwiched between several layers of cement, he parked.

Stephen was crying softly now. For a moment Jon rested his forehead on the steering wheel, gripping it so hard his hands ached.

Then he made himself get up and open the back door.

The sliced-off end of the tentacle flopped out into the still-warm air of the garage, dripping blood on Jon's shoes. (It would grow back; the cephalon would just be in some pain for a while, and well deserved, Jon thought.) "Stephen? I'm going to pull this out now. Are you ready?"

Panting, Stephen nodded. "P-please."

He flinched when Jon put a bracing hand on his hip. Even through the towel, Jon could feel Stephen's skin getting tacky with drying secretions. Small mercies: none of them were the right color to be _human_ blood.

Slowly, Jon pulled.

A shudder ran through Stephen as the last of the slippery purple length came free. Jon refused to think too hard about what it was.

 _The wretched filth will not stain you for much longer,_ Sweetness informed Stephen in the background, while Jon fed the tentacle to a corner trash can. _Your small friend will take you to the den of iniquity and overpriced tiny sandwiches, which has the showers._

 

~~~(;,,,;)~~~

 

Stephen knew the place Sweetness was referring to: a hotel, whose discretion he trusted. Jon put the address in his GPS and they were off, Sweetness filling the silence by informing him at great length how little she approved of the men Stephen normally brought there, and how she only disapproved of Jon slightly less.

Jon left her in the glove compartment when they arrived. She shrieked in disapproval. "It's okay, Sweetness," mumbled Stephen. "Promise I'll be good."

His second-favorite suite was free, and room service was able to provide bubble bath. Jon ran some hot water while Stephen peeled off the filthy remains of his clothes. He kept his gaze tactfully away until Stephen was safe under a nice opaque layer of bubbles.

"You can stay," croaked Stephen, as Jon turned to go. "Wash up. I'll pay you back for the room, too."

Jon took a slow breath, not answering. Now that they were in normal light for the first time, Stephen could see that his shirt was damp with sweat, hair matted, and his face an unusually unhealthy shade of grey.

"Or...go," said Stephen. "If you want."

"I...." Jon pulled at his chin, passed the back of his hand over his mouth. "I want...I just want to know what the _fuck_ were you thinking, Colbert?"

Stephen cringed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I...."

"You don't go there! You never go there!" Jon paced the marble tiles, then kicked a cloth-covered footstool over to the edge of the bath and sat down, leaning forward at Stephen like he was interrogating a guest. "What did you expect to happen? That you were gonna land a hookup with the one tentacle monster that understands the meaning of 'please quit raping me'?"

"I don't know," whispered Stephen. Like so much else in his life, it had seemed like a good idea at the time. He couldn't remember why.

"What if I hadn't shown up, huh?" continued Jon, voice cracking. "What if Sweetness hadn't been able to lead me to you? What if my sonic had broken down and one of them grabbed me? What if one of us got picked up by the first cephalon in thirty years to not know its own strength and snap a human spine?"

"Didn't happen, though. You saved me."

"Of course I saved you! Walked into all kinds of danger and probably set myself up for years of nightmares, but I saved you! You can't do this again, Stephen. You can't make me go through this again. Because I will! You understand? Even when you've brought it on yourself, I can't, I can't not come and find you...."

"'Msorry," repeated Stephen, heartsick and lost. "I'm sorry, I'm really...Jon, you...you got a bit of something, on your face."

Jon touched his cheek. On the wrong side, the one without the spattering of cephalon blood.

"Here, I can...." Stephen unfolded the washcloth from the hospitality tray, dipped it in the bubbly water (it hadn't had time yet to get murky with squid come), and beckoned Jon forward. To his relief, Jon leaned into the touch and let Stephen sponge off his face.

And when Stephen's arm shook with a sudden tremor, when his skin prickled with fear and he nearly dropped the washcloth, Jon caught his hand and held it in place.

 

~~~(;,,,;)~~~

 

He woke up in a pile of soft clean sheets, still smelling like roses and plums from the hotel soap. Jon's head was on the pillow beside his, a hotel bathrobe fluffy against the back of his neck, greying hair making a gentle cloud of curls.

(It wasn't, truth be told, the first time Stephen had woken up in bed next to Jon. But he would have to say it was officially his least favorite.)

His jaw was sore and achy, as was...pretty much everything from navel to knees. The sucker-marks had mostly faded, though he could feel a lingering tenderness when he poked the barely-visible red splotches with his fingers. Thank God the shows were on a dark week; he couldn't possibly face the Nation while there were still visible tentacle hickies running up his neck.

Clothes with their measurements had been delivered. Stephen put on his sweater and slacks, walked gingerly back to bed with Jon's khakis and grey-on-grey shirts, and promptly collapsed again.

It shook Jon awake too. "Morning," he said sleepily, sitting up. "How, uh. How are you feeling?"

Terrible. Bruised. Hollow. Used-up and thrown-away. Like a profound letdown to everyone who'd ever loved him. "I'll try not to need rescuing again, Jon. I swear."

"Good. That's good."

"Can't promise it won't happen. This is America, land where anything is possible. But for you I will try." He swallowed, and plucked at a fold of Jon's bathrobe, not sure he wanted to go for a full hug. "Because I'm...yours, right?"

"A-heh. You heard that, huh." Jon didn't go for the hug either, but he did run a hand through the waves of Stephen's own loose hair.

 _The boy is not yours,_ sniffed Sweetness's voice in both their heads. _You were permitted to presume only because there was no time, in the heat of the moment, to shred you for your insolence._

"You went to Jon to get help rescuing me," protested Stephen, leaning against Jon's side and letting Jon put an arm around him. "Which he did. And he was _amazing_ , and he's still taking care of me now...the least you can do is share."


End file.
